


Recover

by engagemythrusters



Series: ReVerse [1]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood
Genre: Children of Earth Fix-It, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-08 06:47:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18889315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/engagemythrusters/pseuds/engagemythrusters
Summary: "Jack never let anyone help him when he was sick, but he doesn’t die, and that’s the point. Ianto,mortalIanto, is sick. And no way in hell is Jack losing him now."Or, Jack and Ianto escape the Thames House. Just barely.





	1. Relocate

Jack Harkness smiles and peers up through the boat’s sleek window roof. Rain is pattering down, drumming pleasant, staccato beats on the glass surface, pairing perfectly with the drops plunking lightly into the river around the boat as it glides down the water. Jack can see the house through the greenery now, and his smile grows. He’s rather fond of the house, with its old ledgestone wall that’s strewn with ivies and red-flowering vines and its spectacular views of the river.

He’d picked the house on a whim, far too concerned about more pressing matters to really see what he was buying. All he wanted was a house far enough away from prying eyes. It turned out to be the best house he could have bought. It lacks nothing in charm nor functionality, and Jack absolutely adores the place. If anyone had told him before that he’d become so domestic, he’d laugh, but now he sees the appeal in it.

The boat’s navigation chirps as it recognizes the house’s dock when it gets close enough. Jack presses a button, and the boat prepares itself for automated mooring. He glances up at the house as the boat slips under the overhanging ledge of the house’s library, and he catches sight of a silhouette in the window. He beams up at it before the boat passes beneath it and out of view. The boat powers down as it docks, and Jack picks up the groceries. He hops out, checking and double checking that the vessel is locked up and moored properly before heading inside.

The lowest floor is mostly storage and facilities for boats, and half of it is buried in the side of the bank. Jack likes it down here; it reminds him of his bunker back in the Hub. Cool, dark, and peaceful. Thinking of the Hub leaves a small ache in his soul, but it’s easily abated by the thought of the upstairs.

Music drifts down from an upper story of the house. It’s probably coming from the ground floor, because the upper floors are hardly utilized. Jack makes his way up the stairs, trying to determine the what it is. It’s a classical piece, and he’s sure he’s heard it before, but he can’t quite recall what it is. It’s quite nice, though.

As soon as he’s up the stairs, he wants to dash to the library window, but he restrains himself enough to put away the groceries that need refrigeration first. Most of them do, so he ends up sorting and storing everything anyway. He takes a detour to put away the medicines, too, still listening appreciatively to the music.

He lets himself rush just the library just a little, because it’s been an exciting morning of sorts and he wants to talk about it. It’s only a bit childish.

The small library is one of the most-used rooms of the house, second only to the main bedroom. Every book and shelf has been tended and treated with lovingly care. Only some of the books have been read so far, but given the opportunity, Jack likes to think they’ll all eventually be consumed. The section that’s been browsed the most has been the historical section, with its texts on old Earth and Altea (this planet) and the past ten centuries. Jack gives the shelf a grateful pat as he walks past.

His heart rises in his chest for a moment as he catches sight of the man sitting at the windowsill seat gazing over the river. It sinks heavily as he sees the cannula and the empty look in the man’s eyes, but it eventually settles at a normal level as Jack recognizes that it could be worse. Sure, it’s not a Good Day, but it’s not a Bad Day, either. Today’s a Medium Day.

Good Days are days spent out of bed without need of the oxygen tank. Medium Days are either in bed without the tank, or out of bed with it. Bad Days are both tank and bed, and most of it spent sleeping. Jack can remember when it was mainly Good and Medium Days, but now it’s the reverse, with more Bad Days than Medium and Good Days few and far between. And with the decrease of Good Days, so, too, has the mood tumbled downhill. Depression looms over the house almost constantly, and today seems to be no exception. Jack’s leftover excitement from the morning plummets as quickly as the rain outside.

Jack sits down on the heavily-pillowed bench and observes the falling rain with the gaunt figure beside him. He’s yet again reminded how glad he is that this is the house he picked; he doesn’t think any other house or any other view could be as soothing as the flowing river and the green trees just outside the glass. Thank god for Earth-like planets.

He feels like he already knows, but he asks anyway: “How are you?”

Ianto doesn’t even look at him when he shrugs.

“How’s your chest?”

He almost sighs when he receives another half-hearted shrug.

“Read anything good today?” Jack asks, praying to whatever deity there may be that he gets a real response.

 “No.”

It’s not much, but Jack thanks the deity anyway.

Jack chuckles. “Read anything bad?”

“Some idiot named Ffyuk had some incorrect opinions on twenty-first century Wales,” Ianto rasps softly.

“I met him once,” Jack says, reaching a out to play with Ianto’s hand that limply holds the book in his lap. “Back when I was in the Time Agency. Had to go back and… well, that’s classified. I can tell you about it in roughly two thousand years.”

He doesn’t mention that Ffyuk was a twelve-eyed, tentacled, glowing alien that he’d… gotten to know. Ianto doesn’t need to hear about that.

“Well, if you ever travel back to the twenty-sixth century again, give him hell for me.” It’s not said with the level of sarcasm Ianto used to have, and Jack’s fingers tighten around Ianto’s.

“Do you know what piece this is?” Jack asks.

“The music?” Ianto shakes his head when Jack nods. “No. The computer’s just been playing songs based on the previous songs it’s played for a few hours now. It’s mutated from the Glen Miller you were playing during breakfast to whatever this is.”

“You let it keep playing?” Jack asks. He knows that Ianto has never been a big fan of his old taste in music.

“I couldn’t get myself loud enough for the computer to hear me telling it to stop after you left.”

“Oh,” Jack says, wondering how many coughing fits that sent Ianto into. “I’ll have to fix that.”

“You keep saying that.”

“I know. But, hey, there’s only one week to go now!”

Ianto makes a small noise in assent and continues to stare out the window. Jack watches Ianto’s vacant eyes follow a raindrop down the glass pane.

“How are you feeling?” Jack asks again.

“Like I need a new pair of lungs,” Ianto says.

“You’re getting them. How do you feel aside from that?”

Ianto turns his sad eyes to look at Jack now. “I miss Cardiff. I miss Gwen, I miss Rhiannon. Hell, I miss Janet. I just miss being able to _do_ things.”

Jack scoots closer and envelops him in a loose hug. There’s nothing Jack can say or do to fix any of those things. Ianto Jones is dead to the twenty-first century. He can’t go back. Not for anything. And as for being able to do things, well, in one week he’ll be getting a new pair of lungs to replace the old ones ravaged by the 456 virus. They’ve been growing in a lab in Altea’s capital city for nearly six months, and Jack hopes with all the hope he’s still got left in him that it’ll start making things better for the both of them. Physically and mentally.

“I’ve got your meds,” Jack says. “They’ve upped the dosages again, so you’re ready for the procedure.”

“Bloody meds,” Ianto sighs.

The sigh sets off a bout of coughing that nearly stops Jack’s heart. He rubs Ianto’s back soothingly, unsure if the action is actually helpful or not. If it isn’t, it at least makes Jack feel better that he’s doing something. One week can’t come soon enough.

“I also got food,” Jack tells him when the convulsions subside. “It’s about lunchtime. What do you want to eat?”

Ianto shakes his head. “I’m not hungry.”

“You sure? I’ve got fresh strawberries.”

“I’m sure.”

“When’s the last time you ate?” He’s already well aware of the answer.

Ianto averts his eyes to a red flower just outside the window. “Breakfast.”

Jack remembers the barely-touched porridge. “Can you try to eat something for me?”

The book in Ianto’s lap closes, and Jack takes this as a ‘yes.’ While he knows that Ianto probably won’t eat much, he still thanks the deity again for small blessings. Jack doesn’t like how thin and skeletal Ianto’s been looking these past few months. It’s starting to terrify him as much as the coughing. One more week, though, until it’s all rectified.  

Jack helps Ianto up from the sill. “Want me to put the book back?”

“Please,” Ianto says, and the snort he gives makes him cough again. He waves Jack’s hovering, fretful hands away and slowly regains his breath. “You couldn’t archive for shit, so what makes you think you can put a book back in its rightful place?”

“Good point,” Jack says, managing to summon a grin that he doesn’t feel.

“I’m taking it with,” Ianto decides.

“I thought you hated it.”

“I do. I’m going to make fun of it later,” Ianto says. “I can show you the parts where your ex got it all wrong.”

“Ffyuk wasn’t my ex,” Jack protests. “Well, not really.”

Ianto rolls his eyes and starts walking towards the kitchen. Jack shakes his head fondly, grabbing the oxygen tank and following.

“Computer, what piece is currently playing?” he asks loudly as they make their way into the kitchen.

 _“The piece you are listening to_ ,” the computer replies in a smooth tone (Jack programmed it himself and, yes, he’s quite proud of it), “ _is_ Vetrate di chiesa _by the twentieth century Earth composer Ottorino Resp_ \--”

“Respighi!” Jack cries. “That’s right.”

“He an ex, too?” Ianto asks, letting Jack help him onto a stool at the kitchen bar.

“No, nothing of the sort. Never even met him,” Jack says. “Just heard something by him once. Live. Might’ve even been this piece.”

“Really?”

Jack opens the carton of strawberries and offers one to Ianto. “Yeah. Wrestled a Ph’taxian hellbent on world domination via music in the middle of a concert.”

“Wash it, first,” Ianto instructs him, refusing the proffered strawberry.

“This is the thirty-second century, Ianto,” Jack says. “It’s safer now. No need to wash your produce before you eat it.”

Ianto gives him what would have been a withering glare, and Jack winds up washing the strawberries. Ianto only eats three before refusing any more. It’s not even noon, but Ianto looks about ready to fall asleep at any moment.

“I’m fine,” Ianto tells him when Jack suggests he should go to bed.

“No, you’re not.” Jack knows how easily a Medium Day can turn into a Bad one. “You need rest.”

They argue about it for barely half a minute before Ianto looks drained.

“You can have a bath first, but you should get some rest,” Jack says.

“Fine,” Ianto relents wearily.

Just because he can, Jack makes it a bubble bath. Ianto grumbles slightly about being treated like a child, and Jack ignores him. Jack sees nothing childish about bubble baths; he’d take one every day if he could. Actually… he _can_ take one every day. He decides then and there that he’s going to take bubble baths as much as possible.

“That’s not convincing me it’s not childish,” Ianto informs him. He reaches out and presses a button on his oxygen tank.

“You’re turning it off?” Jack asks, slightly worried. “You sure?”

Ianto nods and removes the cannula so that he can start undressing. Jack tries not to let it show how bothered he is when he’s reminded yet again how skinny Ianto is. He presses his lips together tightly as he aides Ianto into the tub.

“What time is it?” Ianto asks as he settles in.

“Noon. Ish.”

“Meds,” Ianto reminds him, closing his eyes and sinking further into the foamy water.

“Yep.”

Ianto has three different medications to take: two to acclimate his body to a treatment that’s meant for bodies that have a thousand years’ worth of difference to his, and one for antibiotics. The antibiotics, according to Ianto, has a coating that tastes like hazelnuts. Jack hasn’t had enough hazelnuts to know what he means by that.

Less than four minutes into the bath, Ianto falls asleep. Jack’s not proud of his vindicated _I told you so_ thoughts, but he’s not going to deny having them. Jack pokes through Ffyuk’s book for a little bit, because, if he’s honest, he doesn’t remember much about the guy except for the sex. He gets a few paragraphs in before he remembers, and, needless to say, he’s not surprised that Ianto’s not much of a fan.

When Ianto’s already poor breathing starts to get even more laboured, Jack’s blood runs cold, and he starts up the oxygen again. He tries to put the cannula back in without disturbing Ianto from his sleep, because god knows he needs it. As he does this, Jack curses the 456 and all that they stand for, a steady mantra to keep him from punching something.

“One more week,” Jack mutters to himself, slumping back down onto the floor. “One more week. Just one more week.”

Ianto wakes up from the bath only for Jack to immediately take him to bed. Ianto’s protests were even weaker than before, and he doesn’t actually put up a fight. Jack’s certain he’s not truly opposed to the idea, he’s just trying to maintain the last of his dignity. Which is slightly ridiculous, in Jack’s opinion, because there’s nothing wrong with needing help while being sick. Jack refuses to acknowledge how hypocritical that thought is. Sure, he never let anyone help him when he was sick, but he doesn’t die, and that’s the point. Ianto, _mortal_ Ianto, is sick.

And no way in hell is Jack losing him now.

“I can read to you,” Jack proposes as Ianto’s hands pluck at the covers on the bed.

“Not Ffyuk,” Ianto whispers hoarsely, and Jack chuckles.

“Not Ffyuk,” he agrees, pressing a kiss to Ianto’s forehead.

He leaves to grab another book Ianto is in the middle of ( _A Brief Overview of the Twenty Third Century_ ), and by the time he gets back, Ianto is asleep again. Jack lays in the bed next to him and finds himself drifting off, too.

For the past six months, Jack has been having nightmares. Some of them are the standard terrors: dying in _so_ _many_ different ways, the Year, Suzie and Owen and Tosh, Gray. Others, bizarre events that leave his heart racing. Once it was about anthropomorphized broccoli that chased him into the Altean sun. He’s still not sure about that one. But more and more common have been the nightmares about the 456. In these, Ianto dies, unable to be saved, and, for some reason, Jack murders his grandson to save the world. They’re some of the most horrifying dreams he’s had, and he’s had plenty of alarming nightmares.

He wakes after murdering Steven again, and stifles a sob. He can’t afford to make any noise, because he doesn’t want to wake Ianto, too. A ghost of a touch to his head alerts him that Ianto is already awake, and he rolls over to see Ianto surveying him with half-lidded eyes.

“Morning, sunshine,” Jack says with a smile that doesn’t at all reflect his emotions.

Ianto only blinks in return, and Jack’s chest fills with dread. It’s turned into a Bad Day, then. Jack brings up a hand to stroke Ianto’s cheek. One week. One week. He just has to keep reminding himself. One week.

“You were happy earlier,” Ianto says, and it sounds like it’s taking everything from him to say. It probably is. “Tell me about it.”

Jack’s heart can barely take it. He’s been trying so hard to be happy for Ianto’s sake, and Ianto is making the same attempts for Jack, even through the sickness, but they are both just so miserable. Still, he works up the courage to keep smiling as he forces the cheerfulness through his teeth.

“Well, I was pretty excited about the strawberries,” Jack says, moving his hand to play with Ianto’s soft hair. “They’re in season here, now. Raspberries and blackberries should be soon, too. I can make jam. Or something. Never made jam before. We’ll see how that goes.”

Ianto makes a “hm” noise that turns into a frighteningly long attack of coughs (one week, one week, one week). When he returns to his less-than-normal breathing, he looks at Jack expectantly, and Jack continues with even more false cheer than before.

“And you’ll never guess who I met at the market today!”

A mouthed “who” is all he gets from Ianto.

“Only my many, many, many times great granddaughter,” Jack says, brushing gently at Ianto’s hair. “Let me tell you, I didn’t think my line would carry out this long, but apparently it has. The Time Agency is probably having a collective aneurism right now. Not supposed to put your DNA in the timeline before you were born. Luckily, I’ve checked that none of my DNA… becomes my DNA. I’m not my own grandfather. Thank god. I don’t think I could handle the responsibility.”

Normally, Ianto would make some comment about how no-one could handle being Jack’s grandfather, but he doesn’t, so the silence that follows is deafening. One week one week one week.

 “You fell asleep on me before,” Jack says as Ianto’s fingers absently fiddle with the cuff of Jack’s shirtsleeve. “Can I read to you now, or are you just going to pass out again?”

Ianto’s eyebrows briefly flicker up in response, and Jack tries, and fails, not to think about how those same eyebrows used to arch so perfectly. _Oneweekoneweekoneweek_.

The next day is an actual, real, honest-to-god Good Day. Jack is flying high and can’t believe their luck; Ianto hasn’t had a Good Day in over a month. Ianto is aware of this as well and urges that he spend the unexpected energy doing something useful. Jack’s just happy that Ianto feels up to doing something, so he agrees. They spend the day in the library, Jack re-shelving the entire fiction section while Ianto instructs him. Ianto jokes more about how Jack can’t organize to save his life. Ianto wants to go outside, because he hasn’t in ages, but it’s dismal out and Jack worries that the dampness could do further damage to his lungs.

The day following that was a Medium Day, but Ianto tries to warp it into another Good Day. Jack treads lightly around this, but is somehow stupid enough to make Ianto laugh, setting him into a fit of hacking that frightens Jack enough to _sprint_ to get the oxygen tank. Ianto later mocks him about this, but Jack’s glad he does, because the wheezing that Ianto is doing when he comes back is rather horrifying to say the least. Ianto’s breathing eventually eases up again, and since the day’s incredibly nice, Jack allows some time outside.

“See what a river looks like when there’s minimal traffic and no pollution?” Jack asks, splashing his toes in the water. “Look, you can even see some fish!”

“Mmm.” Ianto’s sitting in a deck chair next to him. He has one hand holding the book on his lap open and one lightly resting on Jack’s head, as if to tether Jack to himself.

“Wanna know the different kinds of Altean freshwater fish?”

Ianto gives him a look, like he’s surprised Jack pays attention enough to know what kind of fish are nibbling at his toes.

“What?” Jack asks. “I can read things!”

“Right,” Ianto rasps, following a weak cough.

“Maybe we should go back inside,” Jack frets.

Ianto shakes his head. “No, I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“You’re like a mother hen. Worse than Gwen.”

“That rhymes,” Jack says, patting Ianto’s knee gently. It feels so boney.

“Hmm. Tell me about fish. The orange ones are new.”

Getting up the stairs is what does Ianto in for the day, and part of Jack thinks that it’s also what makes the rest of the week so awful.

A Bad Day of epic proportions comes next, and Jack spends the entire day trying to keep from breaking down. Ianto’s had a few of these in the past month or so, but this one has got them beat. Jack spends three hours on the phone with the hospital. The nurse he talks to thinks he’s being paranoid, but Jack’s pretty sure he can tell the difference between projecting his worst fears and registering that Ianto could stop breathing at any moment. And even if he is paranoid, so what? Doesn’t he deserve to make one hundred percent sure that his lover isn’t going to die on him today? He’s eventually passed over to a doctor, and the doctor helps Jack monitor Ianto’s condition.

“Only a few more days. Only a few more days,” Jack repeats to himself as he kisses the sleeping Ianto’s forehead after the call is finished. “A few more days.”

Days that are not-quite-Bad-but-not-quite-Medium fill the rest of the week. Most of the days blur together as Jack keeps reminding himself over and over again that it’s just a bit longer. When he’s awake, Ianto reads, and sometimes, to keep himself from brooding, Jack reads aloud for him. Jack startles both of them by humming One Day More from Les Misérables on the day before the operation. Jack doesn’t even _like_ that musical. But it makes Ianto give a faint laugh, and it makes it worthwhile, even if the damn song gets stuck in his head for the rest of the day.

The day finally comes, but it’s far more stressful than Jack had ever imagined it to be. It’s another Bad Day, almost as bad as the one a few days ago. Ianto isn’t even awake yet, but Jack can already tell, and he worries that the operation might just… oh, god. Jack ends up calling the hospital again, and this time he’ll admit it’s out of paranoia.

“It’s just that he’s… he’s not doing so hot right now,” Jack tells the nurse. He runs a hand through his hair and glances back to Ianto’s still form. “I’m worried that he’s not strong enough for it.”

“I assure you, he’ll be in the best of care. It won’t matter if he’s not in peak condition. He’ll be fine.”

Jack arranges with the nurse for an ambulance to pick them up from the docks. There’s no way he’s making Ianto get into a cab at this rate.

When it’s time to leave, Jack wakes Ianto up, but it seems Ianto doesn’t have much strength to stay awake. Jack realizes as he carries Ianto down to the boat that the man’s focus is slipping in and out.

Jack lays Ianto gently down in the part of the boat that’s strewn with blankets and pillows. Jack tries his best to make him comfortable before starting the boat and manually taking it away from the dock. He deliberates driving the boat himself the whole trip, so that he’s distracted from the reality of today, but he ultimately settles on letting the boat go to autopilot. For all he knows, this could be the last time…

No, he can’t think like that.

In order to stop his thoughts from veering in dark directions, he just stops bothering to think. He sits down beside Ianto and starts to talk about absolutely nothing. Ianto isn’t lucid enough to listen. Ianto’s eyes blink at Jack once when he rearranges a pillow behind Ianto’s head, but then they return to their unfocused staring through the boat’s glass roof. It’s raining again today, and Jack’s talking turns into rambling about the weather patterns on Altea as he holds Ianto’s limp hand in his own and gazes up at the roof with him.

By the time the boat is docked at a small pier just outside the city, Jack is spouting utter nonsense about the breeding cycles of Altean catdogs. Ianto’s eyes are closed, but Jack isn’t certain if he’s asleep or not. Jack waits rather impatiently for the ambulance that was arranged to pick them up, because there’s only so much he can say about Altean doves before he spirals out of control.

The hovercraft finally arrives at the dock and Jack jumps to help them with whatever they need, but the medics simply tell him he’s in the way. Jack turns his attentions to putting away the pillows and blankets as they replace Ianto’s oxygen tank with one of their own and shift him to the back of the ambulance. Jack chews anxiously at his thumbnail until they let him into the ambulance. When Jack settles in, the vehicle lifts and makes its way towards the hospital.

Ten minutes into the ride, Jack addresses the driver. “Can’t you turn the sirens on and get there faster?”

“Mr. Jones has a scheduled appointment,” the driver reminds him calmly. “Getting there faster won’t make it happen any sooner.”

“I know, I know,” Jack says. “But he’s not doing well, and if something… if something happens, I’d like to be there so that they can do something for him.”

The second medic turns to him, frowning. “We’re perfectly capable of taking care of Mr. Jones here.”

But the driver takes one look at Jack’s face and turns on the lights anyway.

At the hospital, Jack makes to follow the medics directing Ianto’s bed away, but a nurse with a smile that’s probably brighter than even _Jack’s_ steps in front. She’s holding a pad and stylus.

“Good morning Mr. Harkness!” she says with a sweetness that could make Jack’s teeth rot.

“It’s captain,” Jack corrects. His tone is as gloomy as hers is jovial.

“My apologies, Captain Harkness. I believe we spoke this morning over the phone?” She sticks out her hand. “I’m Nurse Bramson.”

“Hello,” Jack says as he shakes her hand.

“I’m here with some questions,” she tells him, directing him to a chair in the lobby. “Normally, we’d just do some readings with the equipment and be on our way, but as you’ve arrived early, we’ve got time to do a more thorough check-in. You are Mr. Jones’s next of kin, correct?”

“Yes.”

He still feels bad about forging the documents, but he’d had little choice. He needed to be able to get the treatment for Ianto. It’s not like Ianto would be too mad about that. And even if Ianto _had_ agreed to the impromptu marriage, it’s not like he had the strength to stand through a real ceremony, anyway. Forged documents were the best option.

“Great,” Nurse Bramson says. The sickly-sweet tone and flashy smile drop into serious professionalism. “I’m going to need you to tell me about Mr. Jones’s condition, please.”

“Ianto was exposed to an accelerated, mutated strain of the Fnnebian virus six months ago.”

“Right,” says Nurse Bramson as she checks her notes. “And this is odd, because Mr. Jones has a twenty-first century human body, and the Fnnebian virus was introduced to the Andolans and their colonies in the twenty-ninth century.”

“Yeah.” He tries to ignore the growing rage inside him and reminds himself that history says Gwen gave the 456 hell for him.

“And it says here that he was stabilized in these medical facilities before being sent home to prepare for treatment while his new pair of lungs grew.”

Jack nods.

“He’s been taking antibiotics for his old lungs and acclimators for the new ones, yes?”

“That’s right.”

“I’m going to ask you to now describe your husband’s condition in your own terms, if you could, please.”

Jack struggles to remain calm as he tells her about the Good Days, the Medium Days, and the Bad Days. He tells her about the medications and the depression and the lack of hunger. He tells her about how tired Ianto gets. She eventually reaches out and pats Jack’s hand lightly, telling him that will be enough, thank you.

“What I don’t get,” she muses thoughtfully, “is how a twenty-first century human can be here, much less get exposed to the Fnnebian virus.”

“It’s classified,” Jack says. It’s believable; lots of things are classified these days.

“I see. Well, you’re lucky you got here when you did. I’m sure you’re aware of that, because of his… peculiarity, it’s taken a while longer than it normally would to grow his new lungs,” she says. “If you’d waited another three months to start the process, Mr. Jones would not have made it to the day of the surgery.”

Jack suspects she’s sugarcoating it. Based on the past week, Jack was certain Ianto barely had three weeks in him, let alone three months. He shoves that thought to the farthest corners of his mind. It wasn’t helping at all.

A _ping_ comes forth on her pad, and she reads it before looking back up at him.

“There’s another thing,” she says, and Jack’s world tips sideways.

“What’s that?” he asks quietly.

“I believe it was mentioned to you before, when Mr. Jones was first brought in, but we’ve noticed an issue with his heart that could cause complications down the line,” she says.

Jack lets out the breath he is holding. Nothing new, then. “It’s hereditary.”

“Yes, of course. It’s entirely treatable, and we were wondering if it you wanted to have that fixed now. We’d ask Mr. Jones himself, but it seems he’s not entirely up to consenting to that right at this moment. As his husband, you’ve got the say in whether to accept or decline.”

He runs the scenarios in his head. He says yes, and Ianto lives a longer life, but is pissed at him. He says yes, and Ianto lives a longer life while agreeing it was for the best. He says no, and Ianto has to have another operation in a few years. He says no, and Ianto dies from a heart attack in twenty to thirty years.

But there’s really only one choice, if he wants to keep Ianto healthy, isn’t there?

“I accept.”

“Wonderful,” Nurse Bramson coos. “I’ll just have you sign these forms. Not much, just acknowledging that there’s risks to the operation and ways that you can hold the hospital accountable if it all goes pear shaped.”

Jack hesitates briefly as a part of his brain screams _risks? What risks?_ Nurse Bramson seems to notice, and she pats his hand yet again.

“Don’t worry, dear,” she says. “Strictly normal procedure. Granted, it’s not normally done directly before a lung transplant, but technology has come a long way since Mr. Jones’s time, hasn’t it?”

None of the things she’s said makes him feel better, but he takes the pad from her, scans his thumbprint, and signs the line, trying not to feel like he’s issuing a death sentence.

“He’ll be fine,” the nurse reassures him.

The pad _ding_ s again and she takes it from him to read the new message. “Alright. It seems you’ve got a few minutes to see your husband before we take him out to surgery, but you’ll have to wait while they finish setting up the decontamination unit around his ward.”

He’s fine with that. Just as long as he gets to see Ianto again.

“If you’d like, I can show you his new lungs.”

That catches him completely off guard, and he blinks at her a few times before saying: “Okay.”

“They’re a wonderful set,” she informs him as they start down the halls. “I’ve seen them a few times myself. Beautiful pair of lungs.”

“Right.” Jack has no idea how lungs could be beautiful, but he supposes they’re a part of Ianto, and Ianto’s beautiful, so why not?

“Just this way,” she sings as they round a corner. “Stop… here.”

She holds him still under a doorway, and something sprays down over him. It feels like ice and he splutters a moment before the sensation fades.

“ _Decontamination complete_ ,” says a computerized voice. It’s nothing like the smooth sound of the computer at home (that he’s still very proud of).

“And just through this door,” Nurse Bramson says brightly, leading them to an entrance to a room labeled “Lab 214.”

She shoves the door open, and intense white light makes him squint. The room is small, and in the very centre sits a box. The box is opaque. Jack wonders how he’s supposed to see the lungs if they’re incased in an airtight box. Sensing his confusion, the nurse smiles at him and points to a screen on the far side of the wall. On it is a picture of a pair of lungs. Jack tries not to gag.

“They are lovely, aren’t they?” she says, as if she’s agreeing with her misjudged perception of his reaction.

“Yeah… lovely,” Jack says. He wonders if Owen would have talked about lungs that way.

“Probably the best I’ve seen. And that’s live feed of the lungs,” she tells him, still pointing at the screen. “It’s always on. Just to make sure nothing goes wrong with them. Oh! Look at that, just got word decontamination’s done. You’ll get five minutes with your husband.”

As they leave the room, Jack gets the strangest urge to blow a kiss to the set of lungs. It’s so bizarre that he stops in his tracks. He’s never tried to flirt with a _pair of lungs_ before. He takes a deep breath and tells himself its only his frayed nerves. And besides, they’re Ianto’s lungs. Part of Ianto. Perfectly okay to blow kisses at. He does it and feels like an idiot, but it’s assuaged a small portion of the terror that’s been building up inside of him for six months.

Outside of Ianto’s room, Nurse Bramson stops and gives him another electrifying smile. “This is as far as I go. You have five minutes for visiting. Another nurse will come and fetch you then. During the surgery, you will be allowed to access any of our counselling and stress facilities to help you while you’re waiting. The cafeteria is on the main floor, and, should the surgery last longer than expected, a guest room will be provided for you. Any questions?”

“No,” he says, itching to see Ianto. “Thank you.”

“Of course!” she says, and she leaves.

Ianto’s drugged and out already when Jack opens the door, but Jack’s okay with that. Better asleep than in the half-conscious trance he was in earlier. He’s hooked up to a few monitors already, and his oxygen tank has been switched out yet again, this time for a ventilator. Ianto has never been a small person, but he looks like it now.

“Hey,” Jack says to the prone man. “It’s finally happening.”

Ianto, of course, doesn’t respond.

Jack stands there silently, wasting his first few minutes just staring at Ianto. A million worries start rushing through his mind, the eb and flow threatening to overwhelm him. He’s not one for counselling, but that stress facility does sound good right about now. He knows immediately he’s not going to use it (he doubts they’ll let him shoot things with his Webley); he’s got a habit for brooding while under stress. Maybe they’ll let him stand on the roof of the hospital. It’s a good ten stories, but it’s not like it’ll matter if he falls.

He’s got roughly a minute left before he leans over to press a kiss into Ianto’s hair.

“It’s going to be fine,” he says, more to himself than Ianto. “It’s going to be just fine.”

He stays that way for the rest of the time, his lips never leaving Ianto’s head for a second. He drinks in everything Ianto is for a whole minute, savouring every second, just in case Ianto… just in case.

There’s a knock on the door and Jack lets out the smallest of sobs into Ianto’s hair.

“Excuse me, Captain Harkness?” a tentative voice came from behind him.

Jack took a deep breath, kissed Ianto’s head one last time, and turned around.

“It’s time to go,” the nurse says. He gives an almost pitying look to Jack.

Clearing his throat slightly, Jack nods. “Okay… okay.”

“We’ll see you in a few hours to update you on our progress,” the nurse says as Jack leaves the room.

Jack catches one last glimpse of Ianto before the door swings shut and the nurse continues to usher Jack back to the main floor.

He fully intends on asking permission to use the roof.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what happens when you cross my wish to write a sickfic and my need to make everything about fixing Children of Earth. Could've just written a normal sickfic (Jack gets a cold and is a big baby) but nooooooo, I had to make this about CoE. Goddamn.  
> Also, yes, I fucking love Respighi. I will hold a lengthily conversation about his pieces with anyone I can keep still long enough to do so (somebody please talk to me about Respighi).  
> Anyway, hope your day's going well! Thanks for reading!


	2. Rehabilitate

The darkness that surrounds Ianto is so pleasant. It’s blank. Nothing. Just dark. Which is really nice, because he hasn’t slept like that in ages. Maybe not since his mother’s womb. Sometimes he thinks he, from the moment he was birthed into this frightening existence, is ridden with timeless amounts of stress. It would certainly explain the rest of his life. He’s certain Lisa was the only outlier in his life. The one thing that didn’t cause him unimaginable amounts of grief. She’s dead now. Jack’s not. Jack won’t ever die. But he’s so fucking stressful sometimes. Ianto likes that kind of stress, though. Jack-stress is better than stress-stress.

The first real thought he has is _fuck_ , closely followed by _chest_ and _hurts_. Everything hurts. There’s someone in the room with him, and he tries to tell them all three of those words, because it’s really, really important. But something’s not quite right. Something’s off.

He goes under thinking about how it’s too bright there and he misses the dark.

The next time he wakes up, he’s a bit more coherent. But it’s not by much. He still hurts everywhere, but he’s managed to locate the pain. He lifts his head to see it, to see why it hurts like that, but a hand gently pushes his head back down. He’s mad at the hand, because he wants to _see_ , damnit, and he lifts it again.

His chest. His chest looks weird. But it’s not the right kind of weird. It’s supposed to be a different weird. What kind of weird is it supposed to be? He’s fumbling for it in his tired mind.

“Stitches,” he says.

“Ianto?”

The voice is familiar, and Ianto wants to say something to it, because it sounds… afraid? No matter, he’s still trying to figure out where his stitches have gone. He should have those, shouldn’t he?

“Where?” he asks, and he’s so tired.

He doesn’t get to learn where the stitches are, because the darkness is creeping in again, and he’s perfectly fine with that.

He’s not sure if the next one counts, because he’s not exactly certain if it actually happened or not.

He wakes and blinks because the light is still too bright, and not happy and nothing like the darkness. Everything is so slow. There’s a figure there, and this time, Ianto turns to look at it. He frowns, because the figure is not looking at him, but he knows that person, and that person always looks at him. The man’s looking at the bright things. Lights. Ianto doesn’t understand why, because it’s not nice like the darkness. He frowns harder.

Oh. It’s Jack. Hello, Jack.

“Hello, Ianto.”

Is Jack telepathic?

“No.”

That’s got to be a lie, because he’s reading everything Ianto thinks.

But Ianto’s smarter than Jack. Jack can’t read his thoughts if he just falls back asleep.

Take that, Jack.

The final time he opens his eyes, he can tell he’s going to stay awake, because the room, while still bright, isn’t less comforting than the darkness. And he’s thinking real thoughts. This is a bed. That’s a ceiling tile. That’s an IV. That’s… well, he’s not sure what that machine is, but it’s a machine. And that’s Jack.

Jack is sitting in a chair by his bed. Technically. Meaning, his bum was sitting on the chair, yes, but most of his body was draped over Ianto’s bed. His head is on Ianto’s calves. Ianto doesn’t think that looks like the most comfortable position.

When Ianto tries to sit up a bit to see the book Jack had haphazardly draped over Ianto’s thigh, pain throbs in his chest. A groan escapes his lips before he can help it, and Jack bolts straight up. Ianto has to force himself not to laugh at the odd angle Jack’s hair is sticking up in. Jack stares at Ianto for a moment, and the best Ianto can do is smile wryly at him (though he can feel it turns out as a grimace).

“Hey,” Ianto says.

His eyes widen at how clear his voice sounds. How normal it feels to talk. And breathing… wow. He’s not sure how he didn’t notice it before, but breathing isn’t a chore anymore. It’s so natural. He might cry out of relief, and he’d probably be able to do it without fear of hacking up his lungs.

Jack lets out a huge gust of breath. Several emotions flit across his face before settling into a neutral mask.

“Hey,” Jack says. “You really awake this time?”

“I think?” Ianto tries to shrug, but that was a big, big, _big_ mistake.

“Ianto?” Jack asks as another groan fills the room.

“Ouch.” He scrunches up his face for a second. “I thought this was supposed to make me feel better, not worse.”

“Can you breathe?” Jack asks, and Ianto can practically feel the worry emanating from him.

“Yeah. But my chest aches.”

“Maybe I should get a nurse,” Jack says. “Get you more painkillers.”

Ianto frowns. “Best not. Don’t want to end up addicted to drugs that are a thousand years out of my league.”

“Ah, but you’re forgetting,” Jack says, sounding a bit more Jack-like and a little less worrywart-like. “Futuristic alien drugs. Nonaddictive.”

“You sure?”

“Only addictive if you’re a Benzate, Gymu, Olicarp, Tnegu, or a Zuruurumuulu.” There’s a twinkle in Jack’s eyes that Ianto hasn’t seen in months. “You wouldn’t happen to be any of those, would you?”

“Not that I can recall,” Ianto says. “How did you know that?”

“Looked it up when you were out. Figured you’d want to know.”

“I did. Exactly how long was I out?”

Jack checks the time. “Three days, four hours, and seventeen minutes. Not including the operation.”

“Oh.” That feels like an abnormal amount to Ianto.

“Yeah,” Jack says, taking his hand. “They wanted to keep you out for a while, just to make sure you kept… y’know.”

“Got it. Were you here the whole time?”

“Yeah. I paid them enough for me to practically live here for the next century, the least they could do is let me spend a few nights in your room.”

Ianto scans Jack carefully. There are bags under Jack’s eyes, and he looks years older than he used to look before the whole 456 ordeal. But Jack seems relieved, the gleam is back in his eyes, and he looks like he got at least a few hours of sleep in the past few days.

“You look terrible,” Ianto says, smiling.

“And you look wonderful,” Jack replies, grinning back. “It’s nice to see you actually awake for once.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. You had me worried for a bit.”

“I vaguely recall trying to ask where my stitches were,” Ianto says. He cranes his neck down to look at his chest. It’s covered. “Still not sure where they are.”

“Oh, _that’s_ what that was about,” Jack chuckles. “God, you had me and the nurses guessing for hours.”

“Well, where are they, then?”

“Thirty-second century, Ianto, pay attention,” Jack says, tutting affectionately. “Who uses stitches anymore?”

“So, no scars, then?”

“Well…”

Ianto cuts him off with another groan when he shifts slightly in the bed to get more comfortable.

“I’m getting a nurse,” Jack says quickly.

“Please do.” Ianto squeezes his eyes tightly shut.

Ianto feels a quick kiss to his temple before he hears the door swing open and shut. He hears Jack running down the hall, yelling “nurse!” and Ianto snorts. Drama queen.

A few minutes later, and the door opens again. He peeks an eye open and smiles at the nurse that walks in the room. It’s still more of a wince than a grin.

“Pain?” the nurse asks as Jack returns.

“Yes, please,” Ianto says.

Jack bursts out laughing as a scandalized expression sinks in on the nurse’s face. Ianto tries not to laugh, because he’s under the impression that it would hurt a lot more than he would like.

“Excuse me?” the nurse says measuredly.

“Sorry,” Ianto amends. “Yes, I’m in pain. Please drug me.”

Jack’s cackles get worse and the nurse’s look of horror deepens as he ups the dosage of painkillers. He throws Ianto another appalled look before he leaves the room, furiously typing something on his pad.

“He did ask,” Ianto tells Jack.

“Oh, Ianto Jones,” Jack says, shaking his head fondly. “I love you.”

Ianto stares at him for a moment.

“Get the nurse back here,” Ianto says slowly.

Jack’s eyes widen. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“I think my hearing’s off,” Ianto says, frowning. “I could’ve sworn I heard you say you love me.”

Jack glares down at him, but there’s endearment in his eyes. “Shut up.”

“Make me.”

“I’m under very, very strict orders not to,” Jack says. “They gave me this whole spiel. It was kind of kinky.”

“They gave you a ‘don’t shag your recovering lover’ speech?”

“Apparently it’s standard policy,” Jack informs him.

“You’ve finally hit a century where everyone’s as horny as you, then.”

Jack chuckles and bends over to kiss his forehead again. This time, there’s more emotion behind it, and Ianto can feel six months’ worth of _please don’t let me lose him today_ seep out of Jack and dissipate.

It’s not over yet, though, not by a long shot. Ianto may not be dying anymore, but he’s still got a long way to go until he’s declared “better.” He’s still really weak and in pain, and he spends the next four days bedridden as doctors run tests after tests on his poor chest.

Ianto is told about the cardiovascular operation. Jack looks so frightened of Ianto’s response that Ianto almost wants to pretend he’s upset, just to see what’ll happen. But Jack’s dealt with a lot over the last half-year, and he doesn’t need Ianto freaking out about something as silly as a longer life span.

On the fifth day, they declare his heart and lungs healthy enough for Ianto to leave the hospital to continue bedrest at home. However, this does not come without a lot of rules. Nurse Page, who was Ianto’s favourite nurse solely because he was so easily scandalized and because he disliked Ianto so very much, read of the list.

“You are to spend three to five days in bedrest,” Nurse Page declares proudly. He doesn’t see Jack making faces at his back. “There are no exceptions. The following week will be spent with limited amounts of physical activity. You are not to take part any sort of heavy physical activity for the next two and a half months. Examples of what you are not allowed to do are the following: swimming, running, lifting weights, operate heavy machinery--”

“What about sex?” Jack interrupts.

Nurse Page barely glances back at him. “No sex.”

Ianto briefly wonders if he’s just making that up. He wouldn’t put it past Nurse Page. But honestly, Ianto is a bit relieved. He still feels so drained and exhausted all of the time. But he feels bad for Jack, because the touch-craving fool hasn’t had sex since before the Hub blew up. Damn Rhys and those bloody beans.

“You are not to consume any mind-altering drugs or any liquor for three months. You are not allowed to use any sort of transporter or teleporter for the next five months--”

“What’s the difference?” Ianto asks.

“I beg your pardon?”

“What’s the difference between a transporter and a teleporter?”

Nurse Page looks like he wants to hit Ianto, and Jack is having a very hard time keeping his composure behind the angry man. Ianto’s just screwing with Nurse Page at this point; that particular bit of information is actually quite helpful, and he shoots a look at Jack. Jack’s hand instantly goes to fiddle with his vortex manipulator.

“Are you going to continue to interrupt me, or am I allowed to finish?”

“Go right on ahead,” Ianto says.

“As I was saying, no teleportation for five months,” Nurse Page bristles. “You are not allowed to use any sort of space travel for six months. You are not to enter any atmospheres or gravities that are not within Earth-type parameters for six months. Failure to comply with these rules will land you back in the hospital. Understood?”

“Understood.”

“Now, as for your check-ups,” Nurse Page continues, “your first one will be in one week from today. Following that, you will have a bi-monthly appointment for the next five months.”

“Great.”

“I’ll go get you set to check out.”

Nurse Page leaves the room for the last time, and Jack’s chuckles finally break through. Ianto watches him amusedly until the laughter dies down.

“What’s with the ‘no teleportation or space travel’ rules?” Ianto asks as Jack readies a wheelchair for him.

“Well,” Jack says slowly, “teleportation screws up your system a bit.”

“I’d say I remember that, but I really don’t.”

Jack gives Ianto a blank look, and Ianto regrets saying that. He’s not exactly sure how bad he was when they first transported to the medical centre, but from what he gathers, it wasn’t at all good.

“Sorry,” Ianto says. “Go on.”

“But space travel is because of space-baby syndrome.”

“Space-baby syndrome?” Ianto asks skeptically.

“Yeah. You ready to go?” Jack gestures to the chair.

Ianto sighs. “I suppose.”

Jack helps Ianto from the bed into the wheelchair.

“Sometimes,” Jack explains as he begins to push Ianto out of the room, “babies are born in space to different gravities than their planet of origin. They adjust to the lighter or heavier gravities, and it’s hard when they’re older to return to the planet. So, parents usually stay planetside until the kid’s adjusted to the right gravity.”

“So, my lungs are babies?”

“Something like that, yeah. You need to adjust to the right gravity. And I’m certain you don’t want to step into the wrong atmosphere and mess up your brand-new lungs.” Jack pauses. “But, if you ask Nurse Bramson, I’m sure she’ll tell you they’re very beautiful babies.”

“I’m going to miss her,” Ianto says.

“She was very smitten with you.”

“Of course she was. I’m quite the catch, you know.”

Jack chuckles.

Nurse Bramson is the one to hand over the papers to sign off. She tells Ianto that it makes it more official; she was the one to sing them in and she’ll be the one to sign them out. She gives him a kiss on the cheek and gives him a smile to rival one of Jack’s. Et voilà. That’s that. Ianto catches a brief glimpse of Nurse Page in the background of the lobby, glaring at them. Ianto summons as much of his depleted energy as possible to cheekily wave at him. Ianto’s going to miss making fun of the man.

Ianto has to squint as Jack wheels him out into the bright, sunny day.

“Look!” Jack says cheerfully. “Our ride’s here.”

Ianto groans as an ambulance pulls up. “Oh, joy. Couldn’t you just get a taxi or something?”

“Nope. Haven’t you always wanted to ride around in an ambulance?”

“Can’t say I have. Besides. Been there, done that.”

“Do you even remember that? I’m pretty sure they started drugging you up then.”

Jack hoists Ianto up again and sits him in the passenger seat of the vehicle. The driver waves at Jack like they know each other. Jack sits in the back and chats amiably to the driver as the car hovers up and speeds forward. Ianto has to admit that it’s kind of cool to be in a hovercraft. He just wishes it wasn’t an ambulance, for god’s sake.

At the small dock outside the city, Ianto sits and waits in the ambulance as Jack prepares the boat. The driver talks to him now, but Ianto understands none of it. No, he doesn’t follow diverball. He doesn’t even know what that is. The driver laughs like Ianto’s an idiot when Ianto tells him that. Jack rescues him then, but it doesn’t do him much good, because Ianto really doesn’t like being the damsel in distress. The driver and Jack say their goodbyes, and Ianto lets Jack fuss over him in the boat.

“You comfortable?” Jack asks, the engine starting to thrum gently as Jack pulls it out to the river.

Ianto feels like he’s going to drown in pillows at any moment, but to appease Jack, he says he is.

“I’ll come join you in a moment.”

“Now, you heard what Nurse Page said,” Ianto chides mockingly. He raises his pitch to match the nurse’s snobbish tone: “’No sex!’”

“He reminds me of someone.”

“If evil Owen and evil Gwen had an evil man-child for a kid.”

Jack shoots him a curious glance. “No… I meant someone from the Time Agency.”

“I’m still right, though.”

Jack tries to scoot Ianto over, and Ianto gives an undignified squawk.

“You’ll tip the boat over!”

“Relax, Ianto,” Jack soothes. “Thirty-second century, remember? It’s got stabilizers.”

Ianto grumbles slightly but stops when Jack sprawls out beside him. Jack needs sleep, and Ianto’s complaining isn’t going to help. He shuts up and prepares to enjoy the ride.

The glass roof tints when it hits sunlight and returns to transparency when in the shade. Ianto wonders how that works but can’t get his mind around it. Just another thirty-second century mystery far to complex for his tired brain to grasp. Ianto lifts his head to peek over the side of the boat. There’s orange fish in the water. They move with such grace and ease that Ianto both admires and envies them. He can barely move without pain or tiredness. A fin flips up over the surface, and it looks more on the red side than orange. He wonders if it’s lucky.

Ianto wakes up in bed, and he’s not sure how he got there. He doesn’t remember falling asleep in the boat. He exhales deeply and wishes he was back in the boat, floating free along with the orange fish.

“What is it? Are you in pain?”

Ianto starts. He hadn’t noticed Jack presence in the bed, too.

“’m fine,” Ianto mumbles. “Just not high on painkillers anymore.”

“Oh, is that all?” Jack asks, propping himself up on an elbow and smirking. “Don’t worry, it’ll be time for more painkillers soon.”

But the painkillers don’t make any difference. Not in the way that counts. Ianto’s despair starts to return rapidly. He’s in pain constantly because his chest aches and he’s stuck in bed and can’t do anything. Sure, that’s what it was like at the hospital, but there he away from this house and high on their futuristic drugs. Here, he’s in the place where he’s been miserable for so long that he can’t help but feel it again, and the painkillers he’s given aren’t close to what the hospital had in terms of pain relief or a high. And he’s getting Jack all worked up again. Jack spends nearly all of his time hovering over him, just like he did before, wearing the same false smile that in no way covers his fear. Ianto feels so guilty for giving him the hope he had at the hospital.

On the third night, Ianto’s in the bath when he realizes it. Jack’s sitting on the floor next to the tub, face resting in his hands. The shame for making Jack his nursemaid settles in again and something in his head clicks. His head hits the tiled wall with a loud _thunk_.

“Ianto?” Jack’s face fills his vision in an instant as he grabs Ianto’s face in his hands. “Ianto, what’s wrong?”

“I’m Lisa,” Ianto whispers to him.

Jack’s eyes widen, and he leans closer. Ianto suspects he’s checking for signs or symptoms of something.

“You’re me.”

Jack is clearly not mollified. “I’m calling the hospital.”

He's about to go, so Ianto starts talking, because Jack should know exactly what he's gotten himself into.

“You took me from a massacre,” Ianto says slowly, “and brought me to a place neither of us belong. You hid me here, away from everyone. You went out and about, while I stayed here and tried not to die. You smile and pretend everything’s okay to my face, but it isn’t, because I’m rotting away inside.”

“Ianto--”

“You spent so long looking for ways to fix me when I was just miserable. All of the time. And you refuse to admit how hard it is for you, because all you think that matters is me. You’re trying so hard to save me that you don’t bother to save yourself. And all because you’re too afraid of what life will be like if I’m not there.”

“Ianto,” Jack says again. His thumbs stroke Ianto’s cheekbones lightly. “You’re not a burden, and you’re not Lisa.”

“Yes, I am.”

One of the hands leaves Ianto’s cheek to brush Ianto’s wet hair off his face. “Alright, fine. You’re Lisa. Tell me. If Lisa had told you to leave her, would you?”

“No.”

“No, you wouldn’t. In fact, you didn’t. Not even when your life was on the line.” Jack looks him directly in the eye. “I’m not going to leave you, Ianto. Not now, not ever. Not even if my life was constantly in danger. I’m not leaving you.”

Jack kisses his forehead. Ianto sinks into it because he’s so tired. He's just… _so tired._

“Besides,” Jack said, and his tone sounds lighter, “you’re getting better now, right?”

“When Lisa was better, she killed--”

“Yeah. She did. But she wasn’t getting better, she was getting worse. And that’s why you’re not Lisa, because you are really getting better.”

“It doesn’t feel that way.”

“I know. But it will.”

It really doesn’t, though. Not in the magical way Jack seems to think it will.

Ianto wakes the next morning, and he’s still so tired and in pain and empty inside. Jack helps him to the kitchen, where he serves toast and, surprisingly, strawberry jam.

“You made it,” Ianto says.

“Hm?”

“The strawberry jam.”

“You heard that?”

Ianto frowns. “I was there, wasn’t I?”

“Well, yeah, physically,” Jack says. “Wasn’t sure you were there mentally. Didn’t end up being a particularly nice day for you.”

“No,” Ianto agrees. “When do we get blackberries?”

“Season starts in about a month.”

Ianto eats the toast and wonders what life will be like in a month.

 “So,” Jack says amiably as he clears the plates from the table. “What do you feel like doing today?”

“Library.”

Jack smiles. “Kinda figured.”

They walk slowly to the library. Ianto wants to pick out a book, but Jack refuses and guides him to the windowsill seat.

“You’re already tired,” Jack says. “You don’t need to be on your feet any longer than you’ve already been.”

“I have to work up strength somehow.”

“Not all at once,” Jack says. “I’m getting you more pillows.”

“Oh, god, no,” Ianto groans. “Sick and tired of pillows.”

“Alright, fine. What book do you want?”

Ianto closes his eyes. “I don’t know what it’s called. I don’t think you read the title.”

“Oh. Hang on, I’ve got a list of the things I’ve been reading somewhere.”

“You keep a list?”

Jack doesn’t reply as he heads out of the library again. Ianto turns his attentions out the window. He spots those large orange fish down below. They flit about underneath the rippling water, and Ianto tries to remember what Jack had called them two weeks ago.

“Jack?” he calls.

There’s a loud thudding noise from another room and Ianto frowns, listening to the running footsteps. Jack bursts into the library and rushes to him.

“What is it?” Jack asks hurriedly. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Ianto says, staring at him. “Are _you_ okay?”

Jack exhales deeply. “No, I just thought… nothing. Glad you’re okay.” He grins. “Those lungs are really something, huh? Can’t wait to test them out properly.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Ianto says wearily. “Tires me out just thinking about it.”

“Sorry. Why’d you call, anyway?”

“Big orange fish. What are they?”

“Thenlins. Is that really what you called me back for?”

“They’ve not always been here.”

They haven’t. Ianto would know if they were there; he’s spent so many hours staring out at the river.

“They migrate north to cold waters for half a year to lay eggs. Kind of like salmon.”

“Oh.”

“We can go outside to feed them later, if you want.”

Ianto nods. “That would be nice.”

Feeding fish is not like feeding Myfanwy or Janet, but it’s nice to be outside again. He rarely got to leave the house before, and he’s hoping that breathing clearly will convince Jack to let him go outside more.

The trip back to the hospital for his first post-operation check-up goes terribly. Jack nearly trips into the water, sending Ianto’s heart racing in a way it probably shouldn’t be doing yet. And the check-up is done by none other than Nurse Page, and he can’t even make fun of the man, because Nurse Page threatens to put him back on bedrest again. Nurse Bramson stops in to say hello and chat, and that was nice, but then someone robs the boat. By the time they get back home, Jack’s angry and Ianto feels like he could sleep for days.

It’s takes nearly a whole month and a half to regain any of his former strength. Jack finally starts letting him do everything for himself after the first month, but it takes two more weeks for him to stop hovering. But Ianto still gets tired so easily lots of the time, and he’s finding that the lost muscle from lots of bedrest and lack of proper nutrition is going to be harder to get back.

He’s standing at the mirror, looking at his body. He’s started filling out again, which makes him feel less uneasy about seeing himself. The way his body used to look disturbed him; it was like looking at a skeleton pretending to be him. He traces the lines of the scars on his chest. Jack loves them, and he thinks it’s because Jack can’t get scars.

“It’s because it means you’re still alive,” Jack informs him when he joins Ianto the bathroom. He’s still hovering a bit. “Still here with me.”

Ianto supposes he should have feelings like those for them, too. Maybe he should love them like Jack, because he’s still breathing and his heart’s still beating. Maybe he should hate them, because it meant he was sick and weak. But he just doesn’t feel anything at all when he sees them.

The second month comes and Ianto’s got the all clear to start running or swimming or skipping or whatever the hell he wants to do. He’s got more strength back, but it’s still so easy to get tired. And when he’s tired, he finds himself drifting without purpose. Most of the time he ends up at the library window, watching the thenlins dance about in the waters below.

One day, in the middle of the second month, Ianto finds himself back on the windowsill seat, battling his low energy. He presses his forehead to the window and observes the thenlins in the river. Jack’s out for the afternoon, buying groceries. Ianto hardly ever goes to the city with him. He hates it there. Too big and too noisy for him now. Life’s changed since Cardiff. Since Torchwood.

He drifts in and out of consciousness for a few hours, napping in hopes of making the day go by quicker. If he’s lucky, he’ll get a little of his energy back. He only wakes up when he hears the soft humming of the boat as Jack returns. He opens his eyes and watches the way the thenlins dart out of the way of the boat.

“Thenlin-watching?” Jack asks when he joins him in the library.

“Yeah.”

“Guess what?” He sounds excited, and it makes Ianto feel bad for not being excited, too.

“Hm?”

“I got you some beans. Coffee beans. Thought you’d like to start making it again now that you’ve been cleared to drink it again.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

He’s missed coffee something terrible; he couldn’t drink it before because it would mess with the thirty-second century acclimators, and he couldn’t drink it after because it would mess with his pain medications. Now that he’s off those, he can have it again. Jack must be over the moon to drink it again. Ianto should probably make some for him now, but he can’t summon either the mental or physical energy to get up and do it.

Jack slides onto the seat with him, and he wraps his arms around Ianto and holds him. “You shouldn’t be this tired still. Maybe you should talk to someone about this.”

“Fine. But only Nurse Bramson,” Ianto says. “Nurse Page can fuck off.”

Jack laughs softly into Ianto’s hair.

“We could go outside,” Jack eventually suggests. “Closer to the thenlins.”

“Okay.”

“I could read to you,” Jack adds hopefully.

Ianto doesn’t know why Jack still wants to read to him. He thinks it’s either a habit that he doesn’t want to drop or it’s a coping mechanism. He’s leaning more towards the latter, because Jack seems to want to read more when Ianto’s having off days. Ianto suspects that, if that’s the case, it’s a holdover from when he was sick: Jack reads to Ianto when Ianto’s having trouble breathing, and Ianto’s awake and listening to Jack when Jack reads, and Ianto isn’t dying when he’s awake and listening. Therefore, Jack reading to Ianto means Ianto is going to be okay. Syllogism at its finest.

Still, Ianto can’t judge. When he’s feeling shitty he stares at fish. Fish that will no longer be around to watch anymore in little more than four months.

Jack reads him poetry from the twenty-eighth century, and Ianto falls asleep listening to Jack recite a sonnet about a cloud that wishes it was the sea below.

At the next appointment, Nurse Bramson informs them that Ianto is tired because of a residual symptom of the Fnnebian virus. She can’t do anything for it that hasn’t already been done, so Ianto’s just going to have to learn to deal with it, but the good news is that it’ll probably lessen in a few months’ time. She surmises the depressive feelings will go down with it. Or maybe she just hopes they will, because he can’t take any of the antidepressants they’ve got. Something about them being to potent for his out-dated body. This doesn't make much sense to Ianto, because there should be a way to work around this, with all their advanced medical shit, right? Then again, he's not a doctor, so he can't really say. But she gives them a list of things they can do for it and tells Jack to keep an eye out, just in case. Keep an eye out what for, Ianto isn’t sure. But Jack agrees and that’s that.

“Hm,” Jack says as they glide down the river.

“Hm?” Ianto repeats.

“It says to avoid caffeine.”

“What?” Ianto asks, looking up from the water.

Jack taps the pad with the list. “No caffeine.”

Ianto groans.

“It’s only been a week,” Jack says comfortingly. “Maybe it won’t suck as much to kick.”

“Doesn’t mean I won’t miss it.”

“But guess what else is on the list?”

“If I have to give up anything else I like, then I’m pretty sure that’s a list for ensuring depression.”

“You’ll like this one.”

“What is it?”

“More physical activity.”

Ianto sighs.

“Think about it,” Jack says cheekily. “It’s been more than two and a half months.”

Ianto frowns at him for a moment before a grin starts to spread. “Not even Nurse Page can stop us now.”

God, he’s missed sex. Jack clearly has, too.

The third month comes around with a little brighter outlook. Ianto still spends lots of time thenlin-watching, but it’s not always because he feels empty inside.

Ianto is lounging in the boat one day, nestled into blankets and pillows as he reads a book on the Altean Settlement in 2842. The boat is floating, anchored in the middle of the river just outside the house. Jack mocks him for his wish to be in the water without being _in the water_. Jack is swimming. Somewhere. Ianto hasn’t seen him in the past few minutes. He’d be concerned, but it’s undoubtedly Jack just being Jack, and nothing too horrific.

He’s just gotten to a part about the introduction of Earth plants when he jolts upwards. Something’s just splashed him. Jack’s laughter rings out, and Ianto glares down at his lover.

“Arse.”

“Serves you right,” Jack says.

Ianto leans back and returns to his book.

“Come on, Ianto! It’s a nice day!”

“It’s always a nice day. It’s summer all year round. Fixed climate.” It’s true. He’s just read about it a chapter ago.

Jack makes an exasperated noise. “Just get in the water.”

Ianto drops a hand over the side of the boat and into the water without looking up from his book. “There. In the water. Happy?”

Jack doesn’t reply. Ianto keeps reading about adapting potatoes to Altean soil.

“Ouch! Jack!”

He jerks his hand from the water and sits up again, scowling even more furiously at grinning face in the water.

“What the hell?”

“Wasn’t me. It was a thenlin.”

“Thenlins don’t have teeth!”

“Get in the water!”

“No.”

“Fine,” Jack says, preparing to hoist himself over the side of the boat. “Then I’m getting out.”

“No, you’re not,” Ianto replies. He smacks Jack’s hands with his book, and Jack lets go with a yelp.

“What was that for?”

“You can’t come up here. You’re naked, you’re wet, and you _bit me_.”

Jack returns his hold on the boat’s side, but this time doesn’t try to haul himself up. He beams at Ianto, and Ianto, sighing, puts down his book. He rests his elbows on the side of the boat and leans over, his face inches from Jack’s. Jack’s smile widens as he goes for the kiss. Which is when Ianto shoves him back under the water.

He breaks back through the surface of the water, looking appalled and spluttering as Ianto points and laughs at him. Ianto’s laughing so hard he doesn’t even realize Jack’s got a hand on his shirt until he’s being yanked over the side of the boat, down into the river. Ianto manages to get an unintelligible cry of shock out before he plunges into the cold water.

Now it’s Jack that’s laughing as Ianto returns to the air.

“I hate you,” Ianto grumbles, treading water.

“No, you don’t.”

Ianto glares at him for a whole minute before relenting. “No, I don’t.”

Weeks later, Jack’s listening to his stupid Glen Miller (although Ianto’s starting to like it after months and months of it, not that he’ll ever admit that out loud to any soul) and is busy trying to figure out how to repair an old boat engine. Ianto has no idea why, because their boat’s doing just fine.

“Jack,” Ianto sighs one morning as he tries to make breakfast.

“Hnnn?” Jack asks from around a small screwdriver.

“You should be doing this downstairs, not in the kitchen.”

Jack rolls his eyes and squints at the instructions on the counter. He takes the screwdriver from his mouth, frowns at the directions, and then peers closely at a part of the engine. He pokes the screwdriver into the section, promptly dropping it when the engine shocks him.

“Ow,” he says belatedly, blinking and scowling down at the engine.

“This is why you don’t mess around with thirty-first century tech,” Ianto chides.

Jack mutters darkly under his breath.

“What are you doing with it anyway?” Ianto asks

“I’m going to build a boat,” Jack says, picking up the screwdriver and tackling the same spot again.

Ianto doesn’t know what to say at first, so he simply stands there and stares at Jack.

Jack looks back up at him and sniffs. “I think your toast is burning.”

“A boat,” Ianto says.

“Yeah,” Jack says slowly. “What about it?”

“Nothing. It’s just…” he trails off and shakes his head.

It’s just that he’s forgotten that life isn’t all about being in Torchwood, or being sick, or recovering from being sick. It’s just that he has no idea what the hell he’s supposed to do now that he’s not. It’s just that he’s not sure who he is outside of those things. It’s just that he’s got a million options, but it feels like he has none.

“I’m glad you’ve found something to do,” he finishes.

 Jack smiles and gives an appreciative “hm!” and turns back to his work, while Ianto eats his burnt toast and has an existential crisis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does my love of world-building get in the way of other important matters in my writing? Yes. Will I make an effort to fix this? ...No.


	3. Release

Nearing the end of the sixth month, Jack is practically bursting with excitement. Ianto has finished his last appointment. Nurse Bramson actually _cried_ , saying how much she was going to miss him and all that nonsense. The look on Ianto’s face as she wept into his chest was hilarious. As was his final scathing remark to Nurse Page, which still keeps making Jack smile to himself as he thinks about it.

Right now, they’re in the boat Jack’s built, Ianto’s watching for thenlins. Jack’s concerned for a few seconds before he realizes that Ianto’s just relaxing. Life isn’t filled with Bad and Good days anymore; the past few months have certainly proved that. Sure, some days are better than others, and occasionally Ianto has an awful day, but, in the end, they’re just days.

Ianto catches him staring and frowns, but Jack says nothing and watches the cogs turn in Ianto’s brain when they go right past the house.

“Jack,” Ianto says cautiously.

“Yes?”

“We passed home.”

“I can see that,” Jack says, trying to keep his face an impassive mask.

“Why?”

“You’ll find that out soon.”

Ianto curses the stupid enigmatic nature of Jack Harkness under his breath, but loud enough that Jack can hear him. Jack just laughs and settles down beside him to thenlin-watch with him. Jack spots a red one.

Eventually, the green trees that adorn either side of the river start to thin out, and the steep-cut edge of the riverbank starts to ease out into a gentler slope, until finally there’s sandbanks with only a few trees every so often. Jack stops the boat at a spot where there’s two trees standing maybe fifteen metres from each other. Beyond the soft white sands and two trees is a meadow of bright yellow flowers.

When the boat is in knee-deep waters, Jack jumps out. There’s a cold bite in this part of the river. He allows himself a moment to recover before he anchors the boat right there.

 “Hand me that basket,” Jack instructs Ianto.

As if noticing it for the first time, Ianto gapes puzzledly at the large straw basket. Jack had hid it behind the pillows and blankets, but he didn’t think he’d hid it that well. Jack smiles as Ianto turns back to him with a skeptical look.

“A picnic?” Ianto asks.

“Yep!”

“How long have you been planning this for?” Ianto asks as eases himself down into the water with Jack.

“Oh…” Jack tries to mentally count back the weeks since he found this place. “Just before I started building the new boat.”

“You went exploring without me,” Ianto accuses.

“I did,” Jack says, unabashed. “Can you grab a blanket and some pillows?”

Jack prides himself on the picnic; it’s a rather nice one, if he does say so himself. He feeds Ianto berries while spouting random Shakespeare quotes, claiming that that was how it was done in the olden days. Ianto rolls his eyes, lobs a blackberry at him, and tells him it was grapes and the Greeks and there was no Shakespeare during that time at all. Jack picks up the berry and tries to eat it seductively. It doesn’t work, but at the same time… it does.

Which makes the interrupting whirring noise, for once, completely unwelcome.

“You didn’t,” Ianto says stubbornly.

“I needed my vortex manipulator to work again!”

“You’re leaving?”

“Well, not without you, no. But it’s been six months, and--”

“We should have talked about this first!” Ianto exclaims.

“Do you want to stay in that house forever?”

“No, but--”

“Oh, hello!”

Ianto sighs and Jack turns to face the man in the blue box.

“Doctor!” Jack cries.

This Doctor is new. He’s got a puppy-dog look to him that Jack instantly adores. And Jack respects the suspenders. Not sure about the bowtie, but the Doctor certainly seems pleased about it. He’s smiling now. He doesn’t _grin_ like the last Doctor, but he definitely _smiles_. Jack has learned there’s a difference when it comes to a man who can change who he is like the Doctor does.

“Jack!” the Doctor says. “And, hello, I believe we’ve met?”

“Ianto Jones,” Ianto says gravely.

“That’s right. Helped me with the Daleks, you did!” This Doctor also has pep, apparently. Jack kind of misses the spunk from the last two, but he’ll never be caught dead saying that out loud.

“Yes, sir.”

Jack gives Ianto a puzzled look and mouths “sir?” because Ianto hasn’t called anyone that in a while. Not even Jack (unfortunately). If Ianto sees the look, he makes no motion to acknowledge it.

This new Doctor is of the same mind, apparently. “Don’t call me ‘sir.’ I’m not a ‘sir,’ I’m the Doctor.”

“I dunno,” Jack says. “I think it’s kind of fun to be called ‘sir.’”

That’s when Ianto returns the look. He’s apparently not pleased. Jack can’t entirely blame him for that; his date did just get interrupted by the man who has the rather unfortunate tendency to steal Jack away.

“Don’t much like being saluted, either,” the Doctor continues, more to himself than anyone else.

“ _I_ wouldn’t mind being saluted,” Jack mumbles, and now Ianto is glaring at him. He clears his throat. “Right, Doctor. Vortex manipulator.”

“Yes, yes,” the Doctor says, grabbing Jack’s wrist and peering down at the strap. “What happened to it?”

“Jumped it as far in time as it would let me before it short-circuited,” Jack explains.

“I did disable it for a reason, you know,” the Doctor says.

“And I used it for a reason,” Jack retorts. “Wasn’t using it for a cheap trick and a barrel of laughs.”

“Well, whatever motive you may have had, I can’t fix it.”

“Can’t?” Jack asks sharply. “Or won’t?”

“Is ‘both’ an option?”

“No.”

“Then I won’t,” says the Doctor.

“Why?”

“There’s…” The Doctor’s eyes slide over to Ianto. “…things that you can’t do. You can’t go back. You don’t go back.”

“They think I’m dead,” Ianto surmises blankly. “History says I died.”

“I’m sorry,” the Doctor offers.

“Then we won’t go back,” Jack says. “We’ll go forwards. He can come with me to the fifty-first century. Meet my--”

“Jack,” the Doctor says mournfully.

Jack shuts his eyes tight for a moment. He knows what this means. The Doctor doesn’t trust him. He can’t trust Jack until Ianto’s gone. So, someday, the Doctor’s going to come back and fix the vortex manipulator, and it’ll just feel like a cheap trade-in for Ianto’s life. Which is a brilliant way to ensure that Jack won’t use it again. Sometimes Jack hates the Doctor.

Jack opens his eyes again and forces a grin. “Right,” he says. “If there’s nothing else you need to do, then…”

He doesn’t say “shove off” or “get lost,” but that’s sort of what he’s feeling at the moment.

“Well, actually, I was in the neighbourhood--”

“Oh, really?” Jack asks as Ianto wonders: “How does that work?”

The Doctor glances between the two of them. “You’re a lot like them, aren’t you?”

“Who?”

“The Ponds,” the Doctor says, frowning. “The flirty one that I keep around and the no-nonsense one that hangs out with the flirty one.”

Ianto bristles.

“Doctor,” Jack sighs. “You’re not exactly drawing in new fans, here.”

“Oh. Right. I suppose it’s a bit rude. I can be quite rude, you know. That last one was rude, too.” The Doctor pulls a face. “I hope the next version of me doesn’t get any ruder. That would be a disaster, and I don’t think very many people--”

“Why were you in the neighbourhood?” Jack asks. This Doctor is just as talkative as the others.

“The Ponds,” the Doctor says again, as if that explains it all.

“And?”

“They’ve just ‘got hitched,’” the Doctor says. He grins. “Thought I’d pop in and say hello to another married couple while they’re on their seventh honeymoon.”

Jack blanches and turns to Ianto quickly. “Before you get mad, I didn’t have a choice--”

“What? No, I already know about that.”

“You knew?” Jack asks, ignoring the Doctor.

“Of course, I knew. Nurse Bramson called you my husband _all the time_."

"She did?"

" _Yes."_

“Oh. And… you’re not mad?”

“Well,” Ianto says measuredly, “I suppose if I have to choose between dying and being your husband…”

“Oh, great, thanks,” Jack says sarcastically.

Ianto grins devilishly, and that makes it worthwhile.

“But how did you know?” Jack asks, turning back to the Doctor.

“I thought I had to catch up on you from your history. Last time I talked to you was in the twenty-first century. Didn’t know you’d jumped here until I saw your marriage certificate.” He frowns. “If I’d have known it was a fake I would have--”

“I see.” Jack knows the Doctor's going to say “waited” and he has no wish to hear that.

“You keep interrupting me,” the Doctor huffs. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that’s rude? Anyway. I can make it official, if you’d like. I’m certified to marry people in seventy-six different cultures. I can perform an Adozxian marriage ceremony, I can do a Tyenial mass, or--oh! I know! What about a Gmudian tongue-tying ritual? Not sure if your tongues are flexible enough for that, but we can always try!”

“My tongue is flexible enough for anything,” Jack says.

“We’re fine without it, anyway, thanks,” Ianto adds quickly.

The Doctor shrugs. “If you change your mind, I’ll be right here.”

Jack frowns. “What do you mean you’ll be right here?”

“Oh, right! Didn’t I tell you? You’re coming with me!” And the Doctor grins as if this is a totally normal thing to do. Which it is. For _him_.

“You’re insane,” Ianto says.

Jack grimaces. “Ianto--”

“No, he is!” Ianto declares. He points at the Doctor. “You’re absolutely mad, you are!”

“Just like Rory,” the Doctor says, almost fondly.

Ianto rounds on Jack. “Did you _plan_ this?”

“No!” Jack throws up his hands in defence. “Like I said, just wanted my vortex manipulator fixed. That’s all, I promise you.”

“Come on,” the Doctor says. “Don’t you miss it? The thrill, the adventure? Don’t you want that back in your lives?”

“No,” Ianto says flatly.

Jack says nothing as the Doctor looks expectantly to him.

“No,” Ianto says again, this time sternly.

“You miss it just as much as I do,” Jack says quietly.

“I don’t want to miss it,” Ianto says. Jack can only sense the ever-so-slight hysteria behind it from years of learning to read Ianto. “I’m so tired of fighting for my life, Jack. For once, I don’t have to. We’ve gotten away from it all! We can start living, Jack! You have your boats and I’ll have… something, but… I’ve just gotten the chance to have a life, and after this year I _want it_.”

“You can have both, you know.”

“But what if I don’t want both?”

“We both know that’s not true.”

If it was, Jack wouldn’t even be considering it himself. He’s content to stay with Ianto, any time, any place. But Ianto misses it. He refuses it, because deep down, he’s scared. Jack is too. Hell, Jack’s probably more scared about it than Ianto is. But Jack wants Ianto to be happy, and happiness for Ianto isn’t stagnation.

“If there’s any consolation,” the Doctor says. “There’s always an out. Tell me when to stop and I will. I’ll have to stop eventually, anyway. Got to pick up the Ponds sometime.”

Jack watches Ianto go over his emotions through the inscrutable mask Ianto wears as armour. Fear, then excitement, followed by a little bit of both, until it finally rests on grim determination.

“Fine.”

“Splendid,” the Doctor says. “I’ve got a whole list of things I’d like to try doing, and--”

Ianto ignores the Doctor. That’s good, he’s already learned lesson one of traveling with the Doctor: Don’t listen to the Doctor. Ianto’s a natural at it.

“I want your word on something,” Ianto interrupts.

“Do I wear a sign that says, ‘interrupt me?’” the Doctor sighs. He must catch Ianto’s stony gaze, because he resigns himself to an almost professional attitude. “What would that be?”

“Jack dies, even once, and we’re finished,” Ianto says.

Jack starts. “Hey, hang on a sec--”

“Done,” the Doctor says, and Jack watches them shake hands with alarm.

“Ianto, I die all the time,” Jack says. “It’s perfectly fine!”

“No, it’s not. When’s the last time you died?”

At the hospital while they tried to save Ianto after the Thames House. “A year ago.”

“And let’s keep it that way,” Ianto says. He turns back to the Doctor. “And no longer than six months. I don’t care how long it is on the TARDIS, or whatever, when six months have passed here, we come back.”

Jack doesn’t think that makes sense, because if they travel to the future, six months will have already passed, and if they travel to the past, it’ll be a long time before they come around. But the Doctor seems to understand Ianto again, and they shake hands once more.

“Why six months?” the Doctor asks.

Jack might imagine this, but he swears Ianto’s eyes flicker to the river before answering: “Just seems like a good amount.”

“Hm,” the Doctor says. “I’m partial to seven months myself, but whatever floats your boat.”

“Thank you.”

“This was a lot harder than I’d expected,” the Doctor admits. He points at Jack. “Used to be that you were always excited to join me.”

“Times change,” Jack says.

The Doctor laughs as if that was particularly clever. It wasn’t. “I suppose it does. Now, in you go, kiddos.”

“‘ _Kiddos_?’” Jack asks, affronted.

“Don’t pretend you haven’t called the team that on multiple occasions,” Ianto says.

Jack’s just having problems wrapping his head around being considered a ‘kiddo’ to someone else. He’s not been younger than someone for… a very, very long time.

“How old are you?” Jack asks the Doctor.

“Well, that’s rather rude of you to ask,” he says. “A lady never tells.”

“Then I’ll tell you now, I was buried under Cardiff for a good two thousand years,” Jack says.

“Goodness,” the Doctor says. “I know someone who sat at his wife’s prison cube thing for two thousand years. It was Rory. Rory the Roman. Then we recreated the universe and it technically never happened. Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. I’m never using the word ‘kiddo’ again.” He pulls a face.

“Is someone going to help me, or not?” Ianto asks them.

Jack looks over at him. He’s busy stuffing the picnic things back into the straw basket.

“What are you doing?” Jack asks.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Ianto shoots back. “I’m cleaning up. We can’t just leave it here.”

Jack helps Ianto gather things up because Ianto’s given him _that_ look. The one that makes him feel guilty for not doing something. The Doctor stands at the door of the TARDIS and tells them to hurry up! and Jack suspects he’s already got the whole trip planned out. He’s practically bouncing on his toes as Jack and Ianto carry the stuff towards the TARDIS.

“Hang on,” Ianto says quickly. “What about the boat?”

Jack turns back and looks at it for a moment before deciding what to do. “Leave it.”

“Leave it?”

“Yeah,” Jack says.

“It’ll get stolen.”

“So?”

“You like that boat.”

“I liked _building_ the boat,” Jack amends. “I can build another one when we come back.”

Ianto observes him skeptically. “If you’re sure…”

“I’m sure,” Jack assures him.

“Well, come on, then,” the Doctor says, rather impatiently. “We haven’t got all day!”

“We’re coming, we’re coming,” Jack grumbles.

Just outside the TARDIS doors, Ianto stops again. The Doctor makes a small, vexed noise, but Jack reaches out and takes Ianto’s hand.

“You know,” Jack muses aloud to him, “it’s a lot bigger on the inside. Lots of changing rooms and stuff. Could get lost in there.”

“You’ve mentioned that, yes,” Ianto says.

“Think about how much fun it would be to play naked hide and seek in there.”

“You’ll cheat,” Ianto says with that grin Jack so desperately loves. “You always cheat.”

“There will be no naked anything aboard my TARDIS,” the Doctor proclaims.

“Spoilsport,” Jack says. He leans closer to Ianto and whispers: “Not going to stop us.”

“I heard that,” the Doctor says as he disappears into the TARDIS. “Now, get in!”

And with one final deep breath, Jack and Ianto step inside together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, folks! I might get around to writing more on this particular AU, but don't hold your breath. I've got the attention span of a goldfish (or maybe a thenlin).  
> If the Doctor is OOC, I apologize. I'm more attuned to my inner 10th Doctor than my inner 11th, sorry.  
> But thank you all for reading! I hope you have a great rest of your day!


End file.
